The Green Dragon Inn #11 - The Last Chapter

[Nimrodel_9]

Tolly, Keleth, and the crow sat at a table near a fireplace. Keleth tore a piece of his bread, and gave it to the crow, who took it gladly.

Cutting the limbs had been long and tiresome, but not all together hard. He took a large gulp of ale and looked about the room. People were busy preparing for the party. Keleth was surprised to find that he was excited for the party. At parties, he normally sat in the corner, listened to the music (Keleth was very fond of music), and waited for it to get over, but he felt he would enjoy this one more. He couldn`t explain why. Maybe it was the presence of the small and cheerful hobbits.

Keleth turned and watched a hobbit lass clearing off a table, and a thought hit him. The conversations between he and Tolly were often about himself. The hobbit would mention small things about his family, but never said spoke much of himself.

Keleth turned back to Tolly. "Uh, just curious, but are you courting anyone?" Keleth realized how this question may have sounded. He laughed. "Not that I`m asking you to court me, but I was just wondering."

[Regin Hardhammer]

Huan sat by the fire and watched the parade of people going in and out of the Inn, his tail thumping against the hard wood floor. There were a great number of folk getting ready for some festivity. Some of them were working on moving tables outside or beginning to string garlands around the Common Room. Others had set vases with flowers on the table. Still others had taken seats around the tables inside and were eating their supper. The women and girls serving the meal scurried back and forth from the kitchen to the tables. The spectacle of so many people was very interesting, but Huan was beginning to think about getting some supper of his own.

Huan had not had anything to drink since his arrival earlier that day and greatly desired some nice cool water. His parched pink tongue hung lazily out of his mouth. Hawthorne, his charming mistress, was sadly ignoring him since she was busy serving guests and told him that he would have to wait. Huan found a mug of ale spilled on the floor that someone had been too lazy to pick up or was unaware of its fall. Although it was neither cool nor water, it was wet and that was good enough for this dog. With several great laps of his tongue Huan cleaned out all of the ale from the flask and the surrounding floor.

After allaying his thirst, Huan realized that he was beginning to be quite hungry. Suddenly he spied a prize snatch that looked wonderful through his big brown eyes. A roasted turkey leg lay half eaten in front of a human man who was talking to a stout dwarf. The man appeared to be telling some sort of joke to the dwarf, who in turn was laughing loudly. Quickly Huan rushed over toward the preoccupied victim, slinking down as he padded silently and swiftly along the wooden floor that was exactly the same color as his shaggy coat. After snatching up the leg and firmly clenching the treat between his teeth, he fled before the man was aware of its absence. Retreating to an empty closet inside the kitchen he began gnawing his dinner with gusto, with muttered growls under his breath when one of the kitchen maids tried to step forward and deprive him of his prize. From the inside of the closet, he could hear the man across the room howling at the serving maids about his missing dinner.

Finishing his supper and peering out around the closet door, he noticed a large white fur-ball who was roaring like a lion to get others to notice it, although no one seemed to be paying any mind. Huan sprang to attention and felt a loud growl begin to well up in his chest. How he despised cats! They were always purring at people and trying to win attention, always thinking about themselves without the slightest regard for their master or mistress. Huan found their attitude deplorable.

He began to accost the feline with barks and snarls. The cat puffed up even more and began hissing back. Then suddenly the merry race was on. Under tables, over benches, behind the bar, around chairs, they raced snapping and clawing all the way. Like a tornado they left two broken vases, crushed flowers, and toppled chairs in their wake plus one Hobbit sprawling on the ground who had been misfortunate enough to be climbing a ladder to try and string a garland. As the chase continued, Huan’s hatred toward the cat mounted until nothing, not even the army of king Elessar himself, could stop him from catching that fatuous feline.

[Tevildo]

Round and round the room they raced, tracing and retracing their tangled path. If truth be told, Tevildo was enjoying the chase, but in a short time came to the conclusion that enough was enough. He'd had his fill of running: now it was time to do battle against this bothersome hound.

The decision to change tactics came none too soon, since the animals had exited the Common Room and were rapidly approaching the end of the hallway, a small nook that came to a dead end under the stairs where there was no place to turn right or left. Tevildo spun around, dug in his claws, and hissed loudly, puffing up to twice his size, "You nassty dog! Vermin of the Earth, slave of your mistress, probably even a lover of Elves!" The cat had hurled out the worst insults he could think of.

Over the years, Tevildo had discovered that, even though humans were too dense to understand most of what he said, dogs invariably got the idea. From the look on the hound's face, Tevildo could tell that most of his announcement had registered. It was only the last little bit, the reference to Elves (whom Tevildo truly hated), that had flown over the dog's big, stupid head.

The cat issued his final warning with a ringing salvo that meant something like this: "I am a servant of the great lord Melko. Turn and retreat, or prepare to die." The dog shook his head, looking slightly puzzled, but showed no sign of turning back. Undaunted by his opponent, Tevildo sprang forward through the air, managing to bat the hound on the nose with a resounding slap. Landing adroitly just a few inches away, the cat crouched low and prepared to lunge forward a second time, howling his indignation. But this time the lunge never came...

There was a scurrying noise and loud upset voices as feet came running down the hall. "Where are they?" bellowed the young Hobbit lass to her companion.

"Under the stairs," Mistress Ellie cried out as she ran straight up to Tevildo. With her arm carefully protected by the thick folds of a wrapped apron (she'd had experience with this sort of thing before), Ellie reached down and snatched the squalling cat from the middle of the maelstorm, chiding him as she lifted him up by the scruff of the neck. "Tevildo, you naughty thing. Picking a fight with this nice dog. I'm sure he didn't harm you in the slightest. You'd best behave or Mistress Aman will exile you to the stables, and you won't be able to sit by the warm fire. There's going to be a grand feast here tomorrow, and we can't have all this fuss!"

Screeching and clawing, Tevildo tried very hard to tell Mistress Ellie that Huan was definitely not a nice dog, and that the hound had been the one who had done the first attacking. But no one, not even Mistress Ellie, seemed to be listening to him in the slightest. To his chagrin, he was hauled upstairs by the scruff of the neck and locked inside Mistress Ellie's bedchamber. The room was not very warm; no fire burned in the grate. Tevildo sat shivering on the window sill, feeling very sorry for himself. He gazed sullenly over the courtyard, his tail twitching nervously back and forth while he reflected on how hungry he was.

[Child of the 7th Age]

Hawthorne knelt down beside Huan, and gently stroked his head, as she took a closer look at the place where Tevildo's claws had managed to connect with his nose. Finding a small cut that was beginning to bleed, she quickly led Huan back towards the kitchen hoping to cleanse the wound and find a salve to put on it. As she led the dog down the hallway, she muttered a few words of consolation, partially directed to herself and partially for Huan's benefit, "That nasty cat! I can't believe he attacked you like that! You poor thing. They'd best keep an animal like that out of the way with the handfasting and party getting under way!" Feeling a little guilty for ignoring her hound earlier, she noted, "And I didn't even feed you. You must be starved!"

Finding her way to the kitchens, Hawthorne tended to Huan's battle wounds and then detoured to the cutting board where there was a large steak bone with plenty of thick, juicy meat hanging off of it, a prize that Cook had set over to one side. Hawthorne picked up the bone and led Huan out to where he could sit on a large mat in front of the hearthfire.

Wagging his tale in glee, Huan came forward to his mistress, licked her hand appreciatively, and deftly relieved her of the steakbone. Then he settled down on the mat to gnaw at this prize and enjoy the warmth of the fire. Hawthorne could tell that Huan was feeling good about himself. His tail thumped contentedly against the floor as he surveyed the room. In fact, studying him more closely, she could almost swear that he was laughing at something.....

[piosenniel]

Notice of time moving forward:

It is now very near midnight in the Shire. Most of the local Hobbits have all long ago gone off to their burrows; the guests of the Inn have made their way to their rooms, and are now snug under quilts.

Only a few of the Inn staff and a small number of late night guests are still in the Common Room, drinking the last of their pints or straightening up a bit for the morrow . . .

[piosenniel]

Midnight in the Inn . . .

Cook was making a last round of the kitchen before retiring to her room. She was looking forward to the mug of hot spiced wine she’d made for herself, once she’d banked her little fire and snuggled under her quilts. The kitchen was all in readiness for managing the food and drink for tomorrow. She’d recruited one of the local lasses to finish the platters of sliced meats and cheeses which Zimzi had started. And sent Zimzi off to be with her family. The cookies were done; the cake finished; the huge Inn punchbowl drug out and washed.

Her next step, and last she hoped for the night, was a quick trip to the bar where Miz Aman was busy drying the last of the mugs for tomorrow. The two ladies nodded at each other, both too tired to begin a conversation. Cook raised her brows and Aman tipped her head to one of the shelves below the bar. There she had placed the various bottles of spirits which were to make up the punch. Cook tucked two bottles under each arm and grasped the other two in her hands. ‘Should be enough,’ she muttered to herself as she ran through the secret recipe. ‘At least for the first round!’ she chuckled. With a quick step she retreated back to the kitchen, lining up the bottles on the counter next to the bowl. Like little soldiers, she thought, ready for battle.

The old cat was curled up on her rug by the stove. Cook scooped her up under one arm and trundled her off to bed, making a nice little nest in the quilts for the tabby. Then, with a sigh of contentment, she removed her robe and slid under the covers. A mug of wine later found her snoring soundly on her pillows, her little lamp still burning softly . . .

[HerenIstarion]

The warmth spread from the hearth, and jumping shadows of the flickering fire made the familiar and beloved nooks of the Common Room even more cozy than usual. It was late, and those who haven’t yet left for home, were drowsy. Odds and ends of lazy conversation may have been heard, if anyone were in the mood of eavesdropping, but curiosity itself was lazed by the late hour and warmth of the room. It’s been a hard day, with wedding preparations full steam ahead, and hosts and helpers alike felt they deserved a little bit of rest

It was a cold night outside. Freezing drizzle, as if suspended in the air, was making efforts of becoming rain proper, but failed, succeeding though in wetting the earth, and turning the cart-way into the line of icy mud.

‘I hope it gets better than that tomorrow’ muttered someone lazily.

‘It will, Old Toby said we’ll have fine weather as sure as sunshine, and that old stub keeps his nose down the wind with more skikk than anyone I know of’

As the guest spoke, muted clatter of hooves and squeaking of wheels may have been heard coming from the South, were customers in the Common Room attentive enough to pay heed. Three heavily loaded wagons, pulled by extremely wretched nags of a horses and covered with tarpaulin, seemingly roughly knocked together out of some allegedly ligneous flotsam and jetsam, rolled up the pathway to the front door.

Tree coachmen jumped off almost concurrently. All three were broad of shoulder, but stocky, almost squat. They were even dressed alike, in some grey and dirty rags, topped with equally grey torn cloaks. One, apparently the leader, slapped the board of the middle wagon with the handle of his whip.

‘Hey, you riff-raff’, come out!’ he shouted in harsh voice. ‘You can go on slugging inside that hovel of an inn for a change!’ For some time, no sound came in return, than a whole chorus of muffled grumbling and bustling could have been heard, and some more ragged figures hoisted themselves down from the body of the wagon. Judging by their lesser stature and higher tone to their snarling, these were the women, but equally stocky and broad of shoulder as the coachmen were

‘What is this place?’ sulkily asked the youngest. ‘Why could not we stop somewhere, father, instead of roaming all the time?’

‘Because they always drive us off, if you please, you dunce’ snarled the chief coachman, ‘they don’t like us, you know. And this is the very place they killed our Sharkey, so keep your mouth shut, everybody, I’ll do the talking!’ Hey, what do you think you are up to?’ he turned abruptly to the second coachman, who just started to unharness his pull-horse.

‘What?’ startled coachman stared at the leader with apparent fear.


‘I’m a leader of the band of idiots!’ growled the chief coachman under his breath, then yelled at the delinquent, ‘Do you have gold on you, Snaggy?

‘No, uncle’ answered the latter with unconcealed terror.

‘So, you probably would guess that we don’t have the means to pay for our food and lodgings here, would you?”

‘Yes, uncle’ cam an answer in hardly audible whisper.

‘Than, I dare utter a guess, you’d prefer to have wagons ready at the door for our escape, would you not?

‘Yes uncle...’

‘So leave the heck that harness alone, you dim-wit!’

‘But, uncle, the horses, they need...”

‘What, what damn horses need? Drop it, I say, or I’ll have your head for my supper tonight!’

‘Yes, uncle’

Grumbling and sulking, party followed the leader up to the front door, which he threw open with an angry jerk of his shoulder.

The quiet whisper of the Common Room dropped abruptly as the newcomers filed into the room, bringing in sharp smell of frost and horses. The Chief coachman, followed by his train, approached the bar, where Aman was wiping glasses, but now stopped and turned attentive eye on the company.

‘Good evening, M’am’ started the chief coachman in an unctuous voice, mastering his anger at the face of his need. ‘My name is Dublong, there are my wife and daughter, and those youngsters over there are my nephews. We travel from the South – they say there are good places to live in now that the King returned’

To her surprise, Aman noticed that Dublong pronounced ‘King’ with the twitch, unlike usual affection the word radiated when spoken by everybody she knew. Meanwhile, Dublong went on.

‘We will be going on tomorrow, M’am, but we’d like room to roll the night over, and something to chew before.’

There was something strange about the man. He seemed friendly, but Aman could not help feeling uneasy about him. There was something wrong, something Mayor Samwise would call ‘fishy’ if he were about to put a name to it.

Yet she smiled and answered courteously

‘I’m Aman. This is the right place you came to, Sir’. I have a free room for five, and the supper is fresh from the fire. It’s mushrooms today, with a melted cheese on top. Besides, I may offer you white bread, and butter; and milk for the lass, and beer for you and your nephews, of course. Would you like it served here or in your room?’

‘In the room, we are tired from the road’ came a quick reply.

‘Too quick’ thought Aman ‘as if he were afraid of something.’ ‘But of course, as you wish it, Sir’ was what she said aloud. ‘Are those your carts outside?’

‘Um... yes?’ Now the man looked wary.

’Merry will take care of the horses. They are no less tired and hungry than you are, I believe?’

‘Um... I would not wish to trouble you that much, M’am, no need to, no need to, they are sturdy beasts, they can spend the night were they are...’

‘Well, it is not a trouble for a stablemaster to lead the horses to the stable, Sir’ smiled Aman. ‘Don’t you worry, they will be taken a good care of, Merry is a good groom, the best to be found for twenty miles round the place.

‘Well, if you say so. Thank you, M’am’ Dublong felt that insisting in the matter may give rise to suspicions. “We’ll have to slip to the stables first thing in the morning, than’ was what he thought. ‘Now, we would like to go to our room, M’am

“But of course, follow me’’

Aman came out from behind the bar, took one of the sconces standing on its side and lead the party through one of the doorways leading to guest rooms behind the Common Room.

‘Funny customers, those’, muttered Tolly to no one in particular
‘Sure’ answered Kaleth, ‘but you get all sorts of these days, what with all comings and goings up the greenway and all’

‘Yeh, mighty load of folks coming North, you’re right’ yawned back Tolly.

The room fell back to quiet buzzing of muffled whispering. The party of newcomers, obviously, haven’t aroused much interest in the tired old hands of the Inn.